"...and the Devil is a Railroad Car."

I spent the majority of this past weekend on a train - approximately two out of the past three days. The brief time not spent en route was spent cramming in as much friend-and-family time as possible in LA. Total count? About 30 hours, 30 relatives, and 15 friends. Thank you to everyone who made time to see me. I appreciated every second.

Nicole and I tried to sleep most of the round-trip. It's hard not to when 12 of the 16 hours in transit fell between dusk and dawn. But Amtrak seats are only a bit more comfortable than airplane seats, and not very conducive to restful slumber. So I read a little, stared blankly into the darkness, and sometimes went to the lounge to sip coffee see who else wasn't sleeping. Besides, I don't think my reading Catcher in the Rye aloud to Nicole was much appreciated by the giggly church volunteer behind us or the elderly Mennonite couple across from her. Bits like, "...and his soul's in Heaven and all that crap," could not have been warmly received.

There seemed to be an inordinate number of Jesus fans on the rails in general. That Mennonite couple was only the first of three couples I saw during my round trip, and on the way back yesterday I suddenly found myself locked in conversation between a preacher and a hard place - the hard place being a former farmer from Burlington, Iowa.

He was good company, though, in between feeding his pop addiction and pointing out livestock and buildings as we trekked across the sparsely populated snowy mesas between Flagstaff and Albuquerque. He also consented to be a guinea pig for my new blogging idea (to be revealed soon). Nicole even found a hilarious pamphlet of Christian propaganda entitled "The Atheist Test". Apparently, the Big Bang theory doesn't hold up to scrutiny when applied to the origins of soda cans. This is an actual graphic from the booklet.

They insisted I'm a believer, whether or not I knew it. This isn't the first time I've heard such things, but it makes me wonder if they say that to all the 20-somethings, hoping it will win them over to the church with trust and goodwill. Are they just spiritual confidence men? Yesterday I almost believed them, today I have more doubts. Of course, yesterday I was sleep-deprived, and today I'm better rested. Maybe this is what Saint Anthony, Buddha, and all their ascetic company mean when they say physical comfort distracts from what is truly important. Whatever that is.

By the way, have you ever seen Los Angeles' Union Station lit up at night? It's an elegant and stunning sight, as well as a dangerous one, considering it will make people loathe to leave, as it did me.

Beards on the Bayou

Last week I found myself living in makeshift dormitory at the First Methodist Church of New Iberia, Louisiana, a small town outside of the roaring metropolis that is Lafayette.  Well, it might be anyway - I didn't make it up to Lafayette.  We were there to work, courtesy of our AmeriCorps program with Rebuilding Together. We were there to rebuild houses.

And we did.  We did siding, decking, demolishing, painting, roofing, framing, nailing, screwing, sawing and some people spent a lot of time playing with caulk.  No caulk for me though.  I had my hands full screwing on the porch.  We screwed that porch right onto its frame!  Bam!

It was a blast.  By the end of the days our hands were dirty, our hair was sloppy from sweat and hard hats, our muscles ached, our skin was burned, and some people even shed blood to ensure a better life for these homeowners.  I'm sure they'd just as soon as not have shed blood, but ask me if that two-inch long splinter through my finger was worth it, and I'll proudly nod (while cradling the wound, which I can still make out).

What's a splinter compared to a family with a severely disabled daughter being able to move back into their home which was all but completely destroyed when Hurricane Rita got mad and threw a tree into it?  As we finished securing the ceiling joists and roof rafters, I caught a glimpse of the happy couple walking through the newly re-framed middle portion of their wrecked home, picking out spots for furniture.  The few words I overheard then kept me warm all night.  Which was good, considering I didn't have much of a blanket in our over-stuffed barracks.

Some of us waited for hours to shower each night.  God bless our hosts who cooked for us every evening, went shopping for fresh fruit and bread every day, and arranged a field trip to Avery Island, home of Tabasco.  We spent way too much time at each of downtown New Iberia's four bars just about every night.  An elite crew of us explored the graveyard behind the church one night, and then climbed through a not-quite-entirely parked freight train to get home afterwards.  We danced, we wandered, we made out with each other (just a little), and made friends with the locals (Pete - I hope things work out with your girlfriend leaving her husband in Dallas and all).

Most importantly, we deepened friendships that already were far more important to each of us than the short amount of time we've all spent together would normally suggest.  It's a rich incongruence of which I am a lucky part.

There is no word count bloated enough that could suitably convey the sensations of that week, so rather than understate the case myself, I'll borrow from a tombstone that never existed outside of Kurt Vonnegut's books.

"Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt."  Thank you, everyone.

AlMoStNaNoWriMo

Have I mentioned that I totally failed NaNoWriMo 2009?  Yessir, in classic mattjosh fashion, I was quick to start, slow to finish.

Oh yes, I am a force in first gear, a gallop out of the gate, a booster during blast-off!

But as the time went on, and my life intruded into my writing schedule, I took my mid-month trip to Washington for my organization's national conference and endured long days, intense partying, and hard nights on various floors and beds in the circa-L'Enfant Plaza area.  I wrote on the planes, but could not recover my initial momentum once I arrived home in Albuquerque.

It didn't help that I launched into a project that had sat for two years, after a blitz of inspiration birthed and raised it in two days time into a bouncing baby step outline for a screenplay.  Now I was trying to adapt it into a novel as I went, dismayed constantly that I was not capturing the tone I had envisioned.

It's a difficult project.  A satire on Islamic Terrorism in middle America.  It has to be funny but not too funny, serious but not too serious, real but not too real.  My tone was alternately farcical and melancholic.  Maybe it will work.  Maybe, taken as a completed whole it will reek of genius, rather than simply reek.

Most importantly, I need to return to it because I won't be able to die easy without having completed it.  But there are a lot of those project sitting around my world, and maybe it's better to keep a few unfinished just so I don't get too comfortable with the notion of my own demise.

I'd like my last work to be an autobiography, its closing words, dictated because my hands have grown too feeble to type, quoting Polonius emerging from behind the curtain, "O! I am slain!"

Honey Bear Dying of Exposure

A problem and a plea today. 

Honey Bear does not handle the cold very well.  Every morning I wake up to my 40 degree or, on a good morning, 50 degree living space and find that the honey inside of Honey Bear has cemented into a sweet honey stone.  His guts are blocked.  His lifeblood no longer oozes freely around his body cavity. 

Is Honey Bear still sweet if you can't get sweetness out of Honey Bear?

He needs to be kept around 70 degrees, I think, to function as a Honey Bear should.  What's a boy to do?  Any suggestions?  Help!

The New Old-School Environmentalism

“Climate change data might have been cooked by the researchers at blah blah blah...”

That's about as far as I got into the story about East Anglia University recently.  This all happened just ahead of the Copenhagen climate thingy that's going on now. 

If I sound poorly informed, it's because I am.  Happily so.

Are we still talking about global warming?  Does anybody else see this for what it is?  The climate change issue is, at best, an erudite scientific debate that people are hoping will dictate environmental policy that ought to be based on common sense.  At worst, it's a political straw-man seized upon by the anti-environment lobby because they knew it would be a sticky mess and divert the dialogue from the real issue. 

There, I've just written what should be the key word in this debate twice.  Everyone ready for a big surprise?  Environment.  Not climate.

Everybody talks about climate change and global warming like if we could just all agree on that one way or the other, the problem will go away on its own through our collective prayer.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s great that we finally have something on which to blame the weather, unbridled force of nature that it is.  But it doesn't matter that this July was hotter than usual, or that you remember it snowing more when you were a kid.  Weather is weird everywhere and it changes everywhere (except Southern California).

The real issue at stake is the health of our planet and its myriad species, be they cute, hideous, or just kinda-funny-lookin'.  The global warming apologists of the world want tighter industrial regulations, protections for threatened biomes, energy efficiency, less pollution, etc.  They want the exact things that environmentalists used to want simply because they were the right things to do.  Protect life, keep our air and water clean, and find sustainable ways to exist without destroying the planet. 

Sounds good, right?  Who can argue against that?  Some, maybe many, but not most.  But who can argue about scientific findings concerning an issue as big and as old as the planet itself?  Just about everybody.  Enter environmental opponents, erect straw man.

I'm not saying climate change doesn't matter.  It makes me sad that salamanders and joshua trees may become extinct.  But the solutions we've devised to combat global warming are the same as the solutions we have for general environmental destruction and pollution, so stick to the argument with the stronger evidence and get to work.  Don't waste time arguing the finer points of our demise when the tools are readily available to stop it.

Most importantly (for an English major anyway), it’s still acceptable semantics to say someone either “believes” or “does not believe” in global warming.  I believe that anything that is still commonly referred to as a “belief” should not dictate policy.